For Love or for Money
by The Heidster
Summary: [AU] Suze, Jesse, and Paul are, against their will, thrown into the same romance reality television show. With eighteen other guys involved, who is Suze going to choose? Who is in it for love, and who is in for money?
1. Breaking the News

Hello, it is me, Heidi. Or Ella, as my pseudonym used to be before I realized that stalkers aren't really going to come track me down. Um, hopefully anyway.

For those of you who used to read my Mediator fic, _For Love or for Money_, just so you know, I took it down because I didn't think it was very good and I couldn't come up with anything for it. But now, I had just been given the gift of time, as I just got done with this _huge_ creative writing project, and decided to rewrite this story, all the while following the same plot lines as before.

Summary: _When Gina, Marta, and Jack sign Suze, Jesse, and Paul up for the same romance reality television show, _For Love or for Money_¸ the three of them are mighty angry. Their anger dissipate, however, when they arrive in Ireland, the setting of _For Love or for Money_ and begin to explore the depth of each other's hearts. _

**Important: This story is written assuming that Suze, Jesse, and Paul do not know each other. And also, _certain_ characters may be different than presented in the Mediator series; it's not that I completely changed the character; I'm just putting them in a new light. **

_Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Mediator series; Meg Cabot does. No money is earned from this story; it is purely for entertainment purposes and for me to improve my writing. No infringement is intended. _

**Breaking the News**

When she informed me of the news, I freaked out. No really, I _freaked out_. You know, as in went crazy and tackled her to the ground.

"Um, Suze, this may come as a surprise to you, but I'm really one whose interests lie in the erogenous arts, especially those of the homosexual variety," Gina said.

Of course, it just never came as a surprise to her, the newly appointed chief of the Home Decorating Offices of Carmel—she had moved west to Carmel with CeeCee and me after graduation and was currently residing in the apartment next to mine—that _some people_, being me, do not appreciate it very much when one of their best friends signs them up for a television show. Of the romantic reality variety, no less.

Then again, it's not like my other best friend, CeeCee, was doing much to help. Besides smirking behind her cup of lemonade, I mean. Gina had chosen my elegant, however spider-covered it may be, Widow's Walk—being psychologist pays a pretty decent amount, it turned out. Enough to pay for an ocean view apartment anyway—as the location on which to spring the news on me.

"I can't believe you did this to me!" I shrieked, getting off of her—contrary to what had been carved on the backs of some of the chairs in Columbia, where I had earned my degree in psychology, I am not a lesbian. "I won't go through with this, and you can't make me."

Gina smiled smugly. "Oh, yes, I can. The people at ABC are already starting to interview guys for you."

My eyes probably resembled some sort of a lime—except not oval—as she said that. "How? Why? I didn't sign a contract!"

"Yes, you did. The paper I handed to you to sign last week when you were watching that old rerun of Baywatch—well, primarily staring at that one dude's chest, but whatever—was the contract between you and ABC. They didn't even need an interview; once I showed the producers a picture of you and your resume, they snatched you up faster than you can say 'whatever'"

I narrowed my eyes at her. "How did you get my resume?"

Gina shifted her gaze to CeeCee, who looked like a little kid who got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. "I had some, um, professional assistance."

Jerking my gaze over to CeeCee, I hissed like a snake, "You. Miss I-Graduated-Cali Institute of Technology with a 4.0 and high honors." I stood up and started circling her, like a predator marking its prey. "I don't suppose you've had any, oh, I don't know, computer hacking experience, have you?"

CeeCee averted her gaze towards my Masters Degree in Psychology certificate guiltily. "Yeah…um, Suze? I'll get back to you on that."

Just as I was about to attack CeeCee, Gina stopped me with a, "Suze, give it a rest will you? I already talked to your boss down at the hospital and she said it'd be fine as long as you got her niece your autograph, since, let's face it, you're going to be huge after this."

"But I don't want twenty guys to be fighting over me," I complained like a six-year-old.

Gina and CeeCee both rolled their eyes. "You make it sound as though it were a bad thing. Some of us can't even get _one_ guy to be with us," CeeCee pointed out. She'd never really gotten over the fact that Adam broke up with her to go to an East Coast school. "Besides, you need to start getting over Bryce and move on with your life." I was just about to object to this when she beat me to it. "And what better way to get over someone than to start going out with someone else?" She thought about this for a few moments before correcting herself. "Well, twenty someone elses…"

"Twenty _hot_ someone elses," Gina added as she picked up a copy of _Cosmo_. "Look, Suze. We just wanted to help you, okay? I mean, you're a very pleasant girl to be with." I raised my eyebrows and snorted at that. "No, seriously, you are. Come on, you're intelligent, you're successful, you're fun to be with, and you have a positive energy. Well, okay, you have a positive energy when you're not pissed off over someone having eaten the last blueberry muffin or whatever, but still. I mean, if I were a guy, I'd want to go out with you."

I stopped her there, as lemonade squirted out of CeeCee's nostrils and she hurried to wipe it off her face. "I know you're trying to make me feel better, and I appreciate it—well, marginally, but whatever—but don't say _that_ again."

Gina made a face at me and put down _Cosmo_. "Well, okay. Let's put it this way then: there are tons of guys out there just waiting to go out with a smart, funny, beautiful woman, like you."

I wrinkled my nose. "Yeah, that still doesn't sound right."

She picked up _Cosmo _again, and just when I thought she was going to continue reading about orgasms or whatever it is that she finds interesting, she smacked it against my head _hard_, affecting ruining my newly-straightened hair in the process. "Grow up, Simon."

I smoothed down my hair and stuck my tongue out at her. "Screw you," I growled.

Of course, when you're twenty-seven and you do something like that, the response you get typically results in them laughing uproariously at you.

* * *

I'm really sorry that it's going so slowly right now, but I promise, once we get into chapter three, the chapters are going to be three times as long as this one. 


	2. Final Destinations

**Chapter Two: Interviews**

"Suze, you do know that you have to fly over to Ireland by _tomorrow_, right?" Gina asked me worriedly.

She was my clothing coordinator for this thing, since the TV show people told me that I could pick my own organizer and clothing coordinator, and ever since I told her she could do it, she has been taking her job way seriously. Well, as seriously as Gina can take anything, anyway. Which is to say, not very.

I rolled my eyes at her. "Yes. What are you so worried about? Cee's the organizer; you just have to pick out my wardrobe," I informed her as I flipped through a copy of some magazine I picked up off the counter. _How to Win Men's Hearts in Five Easy Steps_. Yeah, _that_ was really my problem.

CeeCee chose that moment to come sauntering into my room. I hadn't even heard her open the door of my apartment with the spare key I gave her. The spare key that was to be used for _emergencies only_, no less. "_What_ about me?" she demanded.

"Nothing," I told her.

She shrugged and seemed to look around my room, which was littered in all different types of cosmetics and cloths that I had been meaning to return… "Suze, you do know that you're going to Ireland for six months _tomorrow, _right?" she asked.

"Whatever." I tilted my head upwards. "I thought it was five months."

She sighed, "You, little missy, need to start paying attention. Didn't you hear me telling you this yesterday? You've got ten days to yourself before the guys arrive so that the producers and other people can meet you—as seeing how Gina just had to tell them about you and accepted. Crazy television people, I swear—and they're giving you eight extra days to be with the top two guys. Plus you've got a twelve day parade/paparazzi stampede after the show if the guy you picked decides that he just wanted the money, and not you."

I narrowed my eyes at her and stuck my chin up in the air. "That's not going to happen."

"Huh. We'll see."

Jesse's POV

All around me, people screamed, "Why? How could it possibly have been cancelled? People loved it!" or "Gerard, your show airs tonight! What's your problem? Why isn't it done?" while I just sat there, in the soft, red, leather chair in the waiting room. Well, up until this guy plopped down right next to me. He apparently just hopped out of the shower since his hair was all wet and in little locks.

He looked me, and said conversationally, "Don't you hate places like this? Where people all scream at each other? I mean, they make you want to jump up and tell them to just cool it already."

I nodded. "Yes, they could be irritating at times."

He flashed a white smile at me. Either his parents paid a pretty penny for some heavy orthodontia or he just had really good genes, it was hard to tell which. "Paul Slater."

I frowned in confusion. "Who?"

He chuckled. "Me, I'm Paul."

I felt color rush to my cheeks. "Oh. I'm Jesse. Jesse De Silva."

We didn't get to say any more because at that moment, a flushed—or frustrated—secretary came out and read from her clipboard, "Jesse De Silva?"

When I raised my hand and said, "That's me," she leered at me somewhat slyly I must admit, and said, "Come with me. Mr. Mitchells is ready to see you."

Paul slapped my back and said, "Good luck, man."

Hey, how'd he know that I was interviewing?

Oh, how foolish of me. Of course, it was the waiting room for _interviews _that we were sitting in after all.

When I stepped into the office the secretary, Leslie, led me into, the first thing I noticed about the room—okay, cubical—was that it was all purple and not at all masculine, yet Leslie had said _Mr._ Mitchells. Unless…

He was gay. The moment I heard him speak, I knew right off the bat that he was not one of the heterosexual species. How inappropriate. Really, a homosexual guy interviewing other _guys _for a _romance reality show? _

What were they thinking? Or rather, not thinking?

He gave me the same sly leer Leslie had given me and said in a tone of what I guess he thought was _seductive_, "Sit down, Jesse. It's a pleasure to meet you."

And you can probably guess how the whole interview went. You know, he tried to hit on me and I got as far from him as possible.

"Well, I think we're done here, Mr. De Silva," he said. "You are qualified and Leslie will come in here in a second to tell you what you need to do."

Just what I needed. Signing up for a romance reality show and being hit on by both the female and male gender. _Excellent._

Paul's POV

A few minutes after Jesse got called in, a sexy large busted brunette secretary came into the waiting room and asked for me.

When she saw me, she apparently like what she saw—as did most ladies—since she went up to me and got inappropriately close to her chest brushing mine as she informed me, "We're ready for you."

I swear, the staff here at ABC do not know how to keep their staplers in their desk d—

Oh, wait, I think that's only to describe men.

Anyway, she led me to a plain cubical where I sat in front of this pudgy Asian woman who looked at me with the most serious eyes I have ever seen and said sternly, "Mr. Slater, what a pleasure to meet you. My name is Sarah Qian, I will be asking you a few questions in the following fifteen minutes. "

Although she might as well have been saying, "Now we're going to stick you in a pot filled with 32 different species of poisonous snakes and you'll just going to have to deal with it, okay? Okay."

"So I see that you have been quite busy in your lifetime," she said. Then she squinted down at the resume I wrote and commented, "I see you're quite the lady's man."

I smiled at her. "If you want to think about it that way."

"Now, do you have a girlfriend at the moment?"

I raised an eyebrow and told her no. I was going to break up with Lilly anyway.

"Okay, now, why do you think you qualify for our show? What would the American viewing public find interesting about _you? _Why should we pick you over, let's say, Barney?"

And her questions went on and on. This woman was like an x-ray machine, and she wanted to examine every tiny aspect of my life from my family to my wardrobe.

She put all my papers in one neat stack and said to me, "Very nice, Mr. Slater. Please follow Laura to your next destination."

Destination, really? But I didn't say anything, as it'd have been just another waste of my saliva.

So I followed the hot brunette chick—why call her Laura, anyway? Hot brunette chick fits her better—into a room where she made me read and sign countless forms.

After I was all done, it was time to go to the "next destination."


End file.
